Heroics
by Ragingceliac
Summary: The Lone Wanderer is on life-support. The Enclave is being swept away. But one of his companions, Clover, is torn; strange, irrational, sappy desires tug at her, while every logical part of her says to leave while she still can. Her emotions threaten to rend her in two. And then the Wanderer wakes up...


**How did** he do it?

The question had been hanging around in Clover's head for too many days. The Enclave were being swept up by the Brotherhood with their giant killer robot, which meant she didn't exactly have to worry about Adam's safety. Nor did she really have to worry about whether the Brotherhood would let him die. There was one thing, of course, that left her unable to ignore that question.

Adam was in a coma.

For two weeks he'd literally just been laying there. Just fucking laying there while the world passed around him; initiates passed tests, paladins trained with power armor, and knights refined their shooting while the Lone Wanderer, the Lone goddamn Wanderer just lay there, not reacting to anything.

How did he do it?

When Clover first met him, Adam Howard was a half-starved, rattled-looking kid in a torn up Vault 101 jumpsuit. Granted, that was among the burning wreckage of Paradise Falls, but still; when she'd first started traveling with him, she never would have predicted him to be so… stupid. Neither had been very open at first, but Clover had pieced together that the vault he came from, not-so-good old '101, was a stuck-up place with a broom and tape for every back of its populace. It had nearly pushed him to using his razor for self-harm before, as he'd admitted (Much to her surprise) with unabashed tears in his eyes that he'd thrown the thing well away, and run to his best friend for help. She wasn't used to that kinda shit.

People in the wasteland rarely shared personal details. Oh, of course, you had the self-centered egotists who would brag about every single punch they totally threw, or those who would openly flaunt harrowing tales of their scars that probably involved much less stoic dealing and much more colourful swearing than they said. But Adam? Once he felt they were close enough, (for some reason) he'd shared just about everything with Clover; his father, his best friend (The term, she found, for some reason irritated her), heck, even how he was educated. He'd talked about a gray room with a bunch of posters and a chalkboard where for sixteen years he was forcibly taught math and science. He'd even shared with her the fact that he had hopelessly fallen for his best friend, a girl named Amata (An odd name in Clover's view, really) before he was forced out.

Unbidden, the image of a picture Adam had shown her flashed through her head; an old photo he'd downloaded onto his pip-boy of him the night after he'd gotten accepted into 101's engineering program; she could see (With detail that frightened her a bit, if she was honest) a younger Adam, with a massive, goofy grin across his face as he held up a note of acceptance, written on a square-shaped piece of yellow paper he called a 'Sticky-note'. She remembered when he recounted how the literal day before he'd applied, the overseer of 101 had decreed that to get into the engineering program, you had to write a thesis - whatever that was. Adam had even shown her a copy of it, a several-page treatise on the plumbing of some pre-war casino called made by a love-struck billionaire just before the war. Clover shook her head, tearing her eyes away from the sleeping young man in the cot next to her.

She looked vaguely around the room, trying to distract her mind from absolutely anything other than the strange, unregulated urge to just hug the young man near her; to hold on and not let go unless someone shot her through the heart. She shook her head. It had first shown itself just after she'd convinced Adam to stay away from Vault 101; as they walked toward Megaton, Adam talking about some person he'd met on the road a week before, Clover's desire to squeeze her friend until he broke had remained, uncouth and unabashed. Thankfully, the next morning she woke up alone, in a separate bed to the Lone Wanderer. For a few days it was calm, as they trekked across the Capital to the Citadel to meet up with the Brotherhood and finally bite the Enclave back. Then a few raiders tried to ambush them, and in the resulting fight some punk managed to hit him good in the back of the head. When that happened, Clover had felt a massive, nearly-suicidal urge to run over and strangle the perpetrator, despite how she was already dealing with another raider herself. She frowned as, with the memory, a ghost of that urge came back. She quashed it.

That night, Clover took first watch, ostensibly to let Adam to recover, but in reality so she didn't have to keep looking at his face. The ex slave remembered, as now, questioning the fabric of her relationship with Adam; she'd heard stories of people 'falling in love' while they traveled together in the wastes, but most of those, too, tended to end in one or both of them dead. The way they talked about it though… it sounded… goddamnit it sounded actually _nice_.

Someone who would be there. Someone to talk to. Someone who would stick by you, through thick and thin. Clover had never had that. The way Adam talked about her, that Amanda girl had been his; the way his eyes appeared to brighten ever so slightly when he talked about her, or the weird, sappy inflection in his voice whenever she came up. Clover supported her chin on a clenched fist, narrowing her eyes. She felt on edge for some reason thinking about that. Some part of her was muttering curses as the images Adam had showed her flooded in; the two of them one his nineteenth birthday, and the wide, goofy, stupidly appealing grin across his face, along with Amy's small smile and sidelong glance; the time they'd had a 'sleepover' and he drew a monocle and mustache on her face; or his tenth birthday, where whoever was taking pictures had captured the moment she'd given him his present, and the noticeable pinking in his cheeks; the heartbroken flash of grief she'd glimpsed in his eyes when he'd returned from his excursion to Vault 101.

Clover wanted to punch something.

The part of her detesting had gotten louder; it demanded that she march over there and force that massive cog open. Force it open and interrogate Amanda on whatever the hell she'd done to hurt her friend. Maybe rough her up a little so she learns her lesson.

Clover shook her head, so fiercely it pained a bit, and got up from her chair. No. She wouldn't be able to stay with Adam anymore. It was going to drive her crazy if she tried. What she was feeling made no sense; love was stupid and dangerous. It made people do suicidal things like sacrifice for others or jump in front of bullets or get hurt so their lover wouldn't. And Adam…

Shit.

He was in love with her, wasn't he?

Clover pushed the door open with her shoulder, the knob be damned, and quickly set about making her way to the Citadel's courtyard. She needed to think. Clear her head. Shoot something. Preferably with Amanda's head taped to it.

And so she did, brushing past the other knights and initiates who were visibly scared by the pissed-off-looking partner of the Wanderer. Clover was glaring as witheringly as she ever had, not apologizing for bumping into people and snapping when they tried to start something. She didn't have time to deal with lazer-ass-knight-paladin-whatever-Mcgee's righteousness at the moment. She didn't give a damn that she was an 'outsider', nor that she wasn't respecting the Brotherhood. As far as she was concerned, they could fuck off.

Eventually, she reached it, and was oh so happy that it was empty. Some faction of her said it was because it was dinner time, but she ignored it. She had to vent, and there was no better way she'd found other than putting some holes in a target. Or bar fights. Drunk assholes were fun to beat up on.

In no time she found an empty booth and a pistol. It was an old .32, likely meant for the very new initiates, but it would do. She used single-handed weapons normally anyways. The rifles like Adam used kicked like a bitch. Clover gripped the pistol with white knuckles, hearing the Wanderer's name echo in her head. It wasn't a bad name; nice, even. Right then though, every 'Adam' in the wasteland could go suck his own dick.

Her first shot went wildly off target, slamming into the cinder blocks next to her super mutant-esque target (Whoever drew it was really terrible, she reflected). She held the gun tighter, narrowing her eyes even more before letting the second round loose. That one got closer, at least; it hit the spot approximately where the mutant's collarbone would've been. It gave Clover a bit of satisfaction, but now she could direct her focus to how she should've been closer. Much closer. She didn't know how long she spent there, aiming, firing, hitting slightly off her goal, and adjusting her aim only to repeat the process again.

Eventually, when she reached for more ammo after emptying yet another magazine just to the right of the mutant's throat, she heard a cough from the other end of the shooting range.

"You've been here for awhile," they said, and Clover turned to see Sarah Lyons, the one who'd been with Adam when he stepped into the purifier, walking over to her. Part of Clover resented the Enclave chickenshit who shot her in the shoulder that meant she wasn't there. She should've been there; it would've been right. She was unsure of why, but her gut said that it was right. The ex slave narrowed her eyes as Sarah approached.

Out of her power armor, Clover realized with a start that they were practically the same height. In nothing but an old white sweater and sweatpants, the sentinel looked much less intimidating than the six-foot, laser-rifle wielding badass that she'd first met a GNR. Lyons looked too normal in those clothes. Too attractive.

Clover blinked as the thought zipped across her mind, only fueling the odd, intense distaste for the woman before her; it was passionate, burning to the point Clover wondered if she'd go up in flames from it. The anger didn't make any sense. Sure, Lyons was beautiful and competent and hardened and could command a room but Clover had never been envious of those traits before. If anything, she thought Lyons was too stuck-up and straight-laced; too loyal to the Brotherhood's ideals. She didn't seem like the kind of person she or Adam would've liked to travel with. She would be too bitchy for Adam to accept anyways.

Where the hell were these thoughts coming from?

Shaking her head, Clover replied.

"How long?" she asked, slightly perturbed at how tense she sounded. Sarah shrugged.

"About four hours. Long enough for the initiates to call it a night anyways."

"Oh." Clover felt sheepishness beginning to rear its head, before it was swamped in a new wave of anger so intense she had to clench her fists. A small fraction of her roared in protest at the sentinel's proclamation; it said she should've been there, at Adam's bedside, the entire time. For his sake. To keep away prying eyes. Sarah raised a brow at her, looking bemused.

"You okay?" she asked, and her concern sounded somewhat genuine, to Clover's further internal vitriol. Lyons got Adam onto the sick bed he was in; her brotherhood had nearly killed the only person she gave a damn about anymore and she was asking how Clover felt? Her friend was fucking dying because of her!

"No," Clover said, clenching her jaw, "I'm not."

"What's wrong?" Lyons mouth quirked up a bit as she asked. Clover glared at her, but the effect it should've had didn't appear; Lyons, if anything, managed to smile wider, with an infuriating wiseness in her eyes. Clover opened her mouth, a million different insults on the tip of her tongue, a thousand half-formed plans to skewer Lyons and everything she stood for. But the ex slave stopped herself. She shut her mouth, pulling her jaw up, feeling herself shaking slightly. Then, to her surprise, Lyons' expression softened.

"He asked to tell you before he went in," she told her, "That if he died, he wanted you know. I wasn't sure whether to let you know or not; I wasn't sure until tonight." Clover's heart hammered in her chest. Had something happened? Was Adam…? No, he couldn't be; he was the Lone Wanderer. He didn't get to die. Not before she could've done anything.

"Why?" she demanded, taking a step forward. Sarah crossed her arms, that same infuriating smile returning to her face.

"He's awake."

Clover froze; it was as if every molecule in her body shut down for a second. Adam was alive; he'd survived. That stupid, heroic thing he'd done was now vindicated; he'd survived it. From somewhere around her head, the purest happiness spread through her. It went from her head to toes, encompassing every fading bruise and scar she had effortlessly. She felt a sudden, irrational need to ignore the fact that people were sleeping and sprint over to his cot, jst to see for herself.

"I knew it." Lyons said, placing a hand on her hip. "I knew it." Clover blinked, snapping out of her daze. She stared, and Lyons shook her head at her, her expression darking slightly.

"Look. Just about every single woman in the Capital would try to get Adam for herself," Lyons said, absentmindedly thrumming her fingers against her waist. "Some of the men too. People like Adam are a rare breed out here, and the fact that he's, well, a man makes him stand out." Lyons looked Clover in the eyes uncompromisingly. The ex slave, quickly narrowed hers back.

"What are sayin'?" Lyons raised an eyebrow again.

"I think you already know."

That phrase hung in the air, like a weight. Clover's heart was once again hammering in her chest, as a pregnant silence descended upon the pair. Lyons didn't relent at all, to the point that Clover looked away.

"I… why'd he even…" she began, her throat feeling dry. She felt deeply uncomfortable; what happened to that righteous anger? Where was it? The ex slave wanted it back; it was more familiar than the butterflies fluttering around in her stomach at the moment. She wasn't even sure why she was nervous. Adam was in bed right now. At most he was standing, but there was no way in hell the brotherhood would ever let him get up. He wasn't about to barge in, smiling, probably, and looking slap-worthy for how long he'd kept her waiting. Lyons sighed. Clover glanced back up at her, just able to get a grip on her nervousness to look the sentinel in the eye.

"The first thing he asked was where you were," Lyons said flatly. "I think that tells you everything you need to know."

With that she left, leaving Clover alone in the fading sunlight. Everything cast long shadows, which her eyes followed for something to do. She had no idea what to do, really; she was aware of what Lyons was implying. It even seemed to make sense, part of her said. It explained why Adam was so open with her; why he trusted her so; how he managed to stick by her. He wanted her. He loved her. Head-over-heels. It had to be. There was one problem with that, of course.

She felt the same.

She wanted to open up to him. He had seemed so damn happy after he had shared personal things with her; even as the bags under his eyes grew and he slimmed from malnutrition, he still smiled at her with that idiotic, goofy grin when he cracked a joke. He still relied on her even when she got them into fights, still maintained that those guys were assholes. As long as they traveled together, they'd be okay. Despite all her flaws, he accepted her, stuck by her invariably at her weakest points. Never once attempted to take advantage of her at opportunities. He taught her to read. He hadn't needed to; but he did. Because that, in the end, was the kind of person Adam was, wasn't it? Of scary intelligence while simultaneously being driven by his emotions; claiming he was fine when he was hurt, because he didn't want to stress her; bandaging wounds of the victim with soft words and smiles while their attacker lay dead around the last apartment block; saying that he considered love risky, when he was knee deep in it as he told her that.

And goddamn her to hell, she was head-over-heels for him too.

Clover marched her way through the Citadel with nothing but seeing Adam on her mind. She didn't care one bit how cliche that might've sounded; she gave exactly zero fucks about the looks she was getting from those remaining personnel working the night-shift; she had some things to vent to a friend, things she intended to, no matter what.

As she reached the door, though, her movement slowed. It was nothing special; just an oak slab with a window and a rusted knob. It gave her pause, though; what was in there could easily burn her, like it clearly had with Adam and Amanda. His perspective could be different. God, she didn't want that. Her brain managed to come up with a dozen different outcomes, most of which ended in heartbreak. She took a breath as she shook her head, determindley pacing toward the door. For the briefest second, she hesitated with the knob, but then, with another breath, she twisted it and pushed.

The room was identical to how she'd left it. Everything was in its proper place, clean as it could be. The wilted flowers that had been set next to his cot were still in their vase, on the table next to the cot. Everything was as it should have been, except for the young man staring at her from said cot.

His hair was messy, bangs falling about his face without any sort of regulation. He looked pale, barely awake, but shock was still written clearly across it. The first thing Clover noted about him, however, was that his left eye had changed from its normal chocolate brown to a vibrant, emerald green. She couldn't stop the staring she did for a moment, but quickly cleared her throat.

Not before the bastard managed to look away, of course.

"So… how're you doing, kid?" she asked. For a tense moment, Adam didn't meet her gaze. Then he forced his eyes up to meet Clover's.

"Fine," he wheezed, coughing. His voice was weak, too. "Doc said I took about a thousand rads in there. Told me I should-" Adam descended into a coughing fit for a bit, until he managed to clear his throat. "-not do anything too stressful." Clover cocked her head to the side.

"How long before I have to sneak you out to go shoot somethin'?" she said slyly, feeling a grin spread across her face. Their rhythm was coming back. Adam smiled a bit, gesturing to the seat next to his cot, flinching as he did so. After a moment, Clover went over and sat down, noting how Adam tensed. She leaned back in the chair, putting serious attention toward keeping the nervousness in her off her face.

"Look, I… I've been thinking," Adam said, which made part of Clover constrict itself. She hoped it wasn't noticeable.

"Yeah?" she responded, forcing a bit of gruffness into her tone. She would not give any indication that she was simultaneously ready to bail out of the room and keep her vigil by his bedside for the next week; refused to let herself show anything so much as hinting that just looking Adam in the eye made something in her chest flutter, even with his new eyes; wasn't going to let it slip to him that she had a tornado of second-guessing inside her. Adam flinched a bit at her tone, an action that made Clover's heart tighten. The vaultie schooled his face.

"The purifier." he said simply. "When I activated it I asked Sarah to… tell you something if I… you know, didn't make it out. I'm not sure if she's told you yet, but…" Adam gulped. Fucking gulped. Jesus christ. Clover bit her lip or a moment, nodding. _The first thing he asked was where you were. I think that tells you everything you need to know._

"When I was in there, right before I black out, I… reflected," Adam told her slowly. He chose his words carefully. Clover nodded again. "You and I… when we first met, I wasn't sure what to think." he confessed, sounding apologetic. "You were rougher - coarser? - than any girl I'd ever met before. Every girl in Vault 101 would be really soft by your standards," he chuckled, but he wasn't able to keep the bitterness from his voice. He cleared his throat.

"You wouldn't take any shit from anyone. No one tried to fuck with you. You pushed me away at first. For the first bit, I seriously thought about splitting up once we reached Megaton." That statement, for some reason, scared Clover. She didn't want to think about her life without the past year. "But I decided to give it a chance, y'know? I thought it might work out. If we could learn to work together maybe I could get a friend." Adam took a deep breath.

"When I chose to step into the purifier I - I realized..." Clover's throat felt dry. Then Adam took another deep breath. "Fuck. I've never been any good at this." He looked Clover directly in the eye, a hard, blazing look about him.

"I love you."

Clover was silent for a few moments that felt like forever. The silence wasn't deafening for her; her own head was. A dozen differing factions had sprung up at Adam's words, all screaming, clamoring over each other in volume. Say you loved him too. Deny it. It was safer that way. When were you ever that safe anyways? You won't find others like him. You've never even been in a real relationship anyways. She wasn't healthy. He saved the wasteland. Why would he even want you?

"Look…" Adam began, and then faltered, feeling a massive sinking feeling in his chest. Just his goddamn luck. He always fell for the people he'd never have a chance with. "I get if it seems rather… sudden - if you wanna leave I totally get it - I just…" the Lone Wanderer went silent, seeing Clover's hand twitch. Warily, his eyes zeroed in on it. She wouldn't seriously hit him, would she? After everything they'd been through? To his surprise, though, when it approached his face, it was slow and deliberate. When it made contact, it cupped his right cheek. His eyes widened. Her hand was warm. Soon enough, the rest of his face was feeling warm too, something he was pretty sure hadn't really happened since he was about fifteen.

Everything in Clover was at war. Just reaching out to touch Adam's face felt like fighting through a fifty mile an hour wind. But he didn't reject it; his began blushing, sheepishly meeting her eyes with his own. That might've been what had done it, Clover would later ponder, but either way, seeing that somehow stopped her conflict. He wouldn't've been blushing if he wasn't feeling something, too. Seeing that, for some reason, put her on ease. Perhaps it was because he looked so damn cute when he was flustered, or the way he was eyeing her in awe. Either way, it gave her the courage to answer his question by leaning in and capturing his lips with hers.

When she pulled back, she felt dizzy. She felt so fucking happy for a reason she couldn't ascertain. Kissing Adam had felt… right. It wasn't an action she took while drunk; no inebriated mistake; a choice, and one that had been reciprocated. For several moments both were silent before Adam opened his mouth, to which Clover placed a finger to his lips and her fporehead to his.

"Don't ruin this, kid. You'll probably pass out soon anyways." Adam obliged.

Ten minutes later, Clover left, an out-cold Adam in her wake and, for once, a real smile across her face.

* * *

 **Is this sappy? Yeah. Do I think it's too sappy to post? Maybe. Do I care? Nope!**

 **I really liked writing this. It was fun to stretch my creative muscles again, especially with school ratcheting up. I love these two, and that won't change.** **On a more serious note, though, I'd like to say something: I love Fallout. It's what got me writing fanfic in the first place; my first story is about Fallout. The series will always have a special place for me.**

 **But this'll probably be my last story about it.**

 **My interest in it has just waned. Not much more to say. Every idea I have for it I have a bad feeling I won't actually follow through on, and I'm honestly just not that into it anymore. Sorry. :(**

 **Still, though, I hope this was enjoyable; all reviews, follows, or favs will be greatly appreciated. Thanks so much for reading. 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac**


End file.
